To Greenwich

  Bertram laughed, clearly amused.

  ‘Allow me to explain, Oscar. The whistle I used to summon my pegasus – Northwing – is a type of magic known as Evocation Magic. There are different forms of it, not just sounds. And each one is connected to a specific creature you can make a pact with,’ he began. ‘The ninth and tenth note of that whistle is a code telling Northwing how he should appear when summoned. And that code meant “be invisible”. They can be tricky,’ he said, weaving his hands with a nervous smile. ‘Now you know why I was afraid I could break that specific law. Messing those two up would make the summoned pegasus appear in plain sight. Thankfully, the few Evocation Pacts and other types of magic that require melodic sound are extremely rare; otherwise, many wizards and witches would be in serious trouble.’

  Oscar flinched and glanced between the man and the horse. ‘But I can see it, though.’

  ‘That’s because you accepted magic, and it is waiting to awaken in you,’ Bertram explained. ‘Once we mount on Northwing, we’ll also become invisible to Bumbles’ eyes – none of them in London will see us flying to Greenwich. And if you wonder how I can be so sure, it is quite simple. The caster who performed the Evocation can feel if the invisibility instruction succeeded.’

  The entrance door of the manor rumbled open, and Henry rushed out with Annabelle following right behind. Mr Godwin looked like a baked potato, his face a mix of fury and panic.

  ‘OSCAR, stop immediately! I won’t allow you to go with that knight wannabe,’ he shouted.

  ‘The broken glass from Oscar's window, it was you, wasn’t it, Sir Bertram? You truly are a criminal,’ barked Annabelle, playing the victim. ‘Admit it.’

  ‘They don’t seem to see Northwing,’ Oscar whispered to Bertram.

  ‘See? Exactly as I explained to you – the invisibility code has worked. I wanted them not to see us so we could leave in peace; they are insufferable. You’re a tough child, Oscar, to have endured them for so long.’

  He lifted the boy and placed him on Northwing’s back, then mounted in front. ‘Hold tight to me. We are in for a floaty ride.’

  Oscar wrapped his arms around Bertram’s flanks, his face pressing against the cloak of the man who then nudged on Northwing’s side.

  Mr and Mrs Godwin had almost reached the three – but they vanished before them. Henry fell to his knees, his eyes wide, arms straight with his hands flat on the cold marble path.

  Annabelle jerked her head everywhere with terror.

  ‘This can’t be it, right dear? Right? It must be a trick – yes, a lowly trick of some sort,’ she said in a shaken voice.

  ‘No. No. No. NO!’ repeated Henry like a broken disc.

  He didn’t answer what her wife had just asked – because deep down, he already knew. Magic did exist, and the secret they had ignored thus far was a truth they could no longer pretend otherwise.

  A long time ago, when he had still been Oscar’s age, his brother – whom he loved above all – had suddenly left without a word, to attend a school never meant for Henry, his parents had told him.

  He began suspecting that, in truth, his brother hated him, although Henry had once believed, had once felt, that theirs was a true and unbreakable brotherly bond.

  The only chance to see him was during summer breaks when he returned to Godwin’s manor. But Henry noticed that he had changed. Instead of playing and spending time together as they used to, in those few months, his brother would be absorbed in his study, detached and lost in whatever trickery had charmed and stolen his mind away.

  Mr Godwin had slowly become bitter, resentful, hateful – and, in response, his brother distant. Until, one day, he never returned.

  Henry had become ultimately like this. A man gripping power, control and arrogance as a way to cope with his insecurities and the poison that had changed him – even if he could still barely see that lost version of himself through the old, dear memories of the cheerful times with his kin.

  Oscar was all he had left of him. The perfect target to unleash his frustration and pain. And now magic was taking him away, too.

  Curse magic and curse his brother, he thought; both causing him so much pain.

  He realised – wrongly of course, as wrong were all the conclusions of this man – that perhaps Oscar’s last name, Glover, wasn’t just because of his sister-in-law and his brother’s dislike of him; this Wizardry nonsense must have been part of it, too.

  That blinding hate that met the total loss of control over Oscar broke him. He and his wife could not stop the boy from going to Greenwich.

  The winged creature soared into the air, climbing higher, and the manor of the Godwin House shrank beneath them. Oscar could see Henry down below, slamming his fists on the ground over and over, his bald head catching the glimmer of Northwing. He threw his head back and screamed the boy’s name.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  *

  They were flying above London. The cold air caressed the boy’s cheeks, and the scents of the city sky joined his emotions, which were in overdrive, reflected in his peaceful expression and excited smile.

  The knightly horse cantered midair, like advancing on plains of green, as he weaved his vast angelic wings. As sunset coloured the light of orange tints, Oscar glanced at the breathtaking cityscape, bustling with people and architecture of new and old. The Clock Tower, the historical and modern buildings, and the lamp posts – all lit up in yellow on the horizon, their glows reflecting on the Thames and glistening in Oscar’s eyes.

  ‘I never realised how pretty the city could be,’ said Oscar.

  ‘Quite the sight, isn’t it?’

  After a few moments, lost in that beautiful view, Bertram continued.

  ‘Tell me, Oscar, who gave you the rope?’

  ‘Oh, a classmate this morning. Cecilia of House St Clair.’

  ‘Ah! St Clair’s daughter, I see.’

  Oscar told him what had happened that morning.

  ‘Right. The clothes they forced you to wear are proof of how cruel the Godwins can be. When I saw you coming out with them from the manor dressed so, I immediately understood they had intended to make you their jester. We’ll have to find good quality, comfortable ones that fit you.’

  ‘They are so tight. I wish I could have changed while Annabelle locked me up in my room, but they keep my clothes stored away from it,’ he explained.

  ‘Their pettiness would anger even Northwing,’

  ‘Might I ask what your role is, Bertram? Are all the things you’re doing what adults call a job?’ Oscar inquired in a curious voice.

  ‘In this specific case? A favour I was asked. But as soon as I learnt enough to guess what it would be, I interrupted the request. Because I had no need to know more. I decided to fetch you willingly, without wasting time,’ he said, glancing back at Oscar. ‘I’d call what I do a role that requires much of my abilities, but for good reasons. It also forces me, and rightly so, to know many things. But those won’t be the things explained at the meeting that you shall attend,’ Bertram said. He took a deep breath before continuing. ‘However, I can tell you, at least – for everything the Godwins have done to you, your real family would have spell-slammed them on a wall.’

  ‘Spell-slammed?’ Oscar’s eyes widened. ‘Wait a moment, you know my real family? Please, can I meet them?’

  ‘There is a reason why you were given into custody, Oscar. Unfortunately, they disappeared five years ago.’

  Oscar gripped Bertram’s cloak tight with his small hand. ‘Do you think we might find them in the future?’

  ‘We never stopped believing so. There is always hope, my boy, as long as nothing denies such possibility.’ Bertram encouraged, glancing at him. ‘All you need to know for now is that they’d wish you would follow your ambitions and be happy. So I ask you, my little Oscar, to focus on the road needed to become a wizard. Can you promise me that?’

  Oscar bobbed his head, his cheek resting on the man with a flicker.

  *

  Northwing flew off into the distance as the two walked on Greenwich’s outskirts. It was past dusk; the moon was bright, illuminating many vivid short trees and their crowns in a silvery veil. Oscar’s curiosity had the better of him. He looked around in all directions in that place of London he had never been before – yet it felt familiar. Home is the land one lives in, after all. Following Bertram, he approached a two-floor, oak half-timbered, stone cottage that perched atop a low hill, a wide sign upon the entrance reading, with big, letters of black: The Faulty Wand.

  A group of tourists stood in front of it, wearing straw hats – and one of them even had on sunglasses, even though it had been evening for at least an hour.

  ‘Is that a special shop? People are taking pictures.’

  ‘That’s a pub. But only we see it that way, Oscar. You accepted to become a wizard, and because of that, you are able to see places hidden from Bumbles. All they can really see are the ruins of an ancient tower.’

  ‘Does that mean this pub is one of the concealed places you’ve spoken about?’

  ‘Correct. But remember – locations are not the only things that can be hidden from sight. In any case, that will be our place for the night.’

  Oscar’s mind was racing. The thought of soon meeting other people like Bertram in The Faulty Wand – along with his words – wasn’t helping to calm him down.

  They waited for the crowd to clear, and then Bertram pulled the iron latch. With a clank, the door creaked open.

  ‘Go ahead,’ said Bertram, extending his hands in an inviting gesture.

  It was dim and clean; pairs of wooden chairs were positioned opposite each other between tables of a darker shade. Chains hung from the ceiling, and at their ends, faint flames flickered and lit the interior in magical glowing amber.

  In the midst of the crowd dressed in robes of black, blue, emerald green and purple – styled in fashions popular centuries ago in the Bumbles’ world – they wove past people chatting and drinking.

  The servers looked as if they’d stepped out of a mediaeval tavern. They extinguished or kindled floating candles, hovering above the tables, with flicks of their wands. The scent of beverages and food, and the clattering of mugs filled the cottage inn, and hunger and thirst rose in Oscar’s aching stomach. Speaking of that odd food, a few – though questionable – types escaped the cutlery of the unfortunate witches and wizards trying to eat: roast chickens flapping their wings and rolling, jelly frogs wearing red cone hats.

  As Oscar and Bertram made their way through the pub, they now weren’t far from a man with grey hair and wrinkles on his forehead who sat alone in a corner, close to a small mullioned window. He yawned, moving three fingers in a circular motion, and the glasses, already filled with a brownish drink, spun in place as they floated. Bertram gave a small wave as they passed nearby, and the man responded with a slight nod, yawning even deeper.

  A fuzzy warmth spread through Oscar. He stared at the impossible, yet he had begun – since Cecilia’s enchanted rope – to accept it as reality. However, that sensation only grew.

  ‘That man is an old friend. He is known as the most bored wizard,’ said Bertram.

  ‘Oh, I thought he was sleepy.’

  ‘He can give that impression. He spends most of his days trying to entertain himself.’

  ‘Hey, Bertram. Is it hard to make things float like that?’

  ‘It may be, once you begin your studies, Oscar. It depends on your will to learn, a bit of talent and a speck of luck,’ he explained. ‘What I can tell you for certain is that it takes many years with a wand before casting magic without it. And even then, some spells are impossible without one – except for the most powerful Wizards.’